


Au Revoir

by geneeste



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Pay No Attention to the Woman Behind the Curtain, Post-season 4 breakup, repost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:22:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21829678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geneeste/pseuds/geneeste
Summary: As he straightens, she squeezes his forearm, like she’s reinforcing a connection before she lets go. And even though her head is still bowed, and he can’t see her face, he’s so grateful - so utterly grateful - because maybe it means that this is a retreat, and not a goodbye.
Relationships: Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak
Kudos: 5





	Au Revoir

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! You might notice that this is not a new fic. I’ve been doing some archiving of old fic and realized that I didn’t love how bloated the collection “So It Goes” had gotten; it’s not very reader-friendly, particularly to readers who like to use tagging as a way to filter out stuff they don’t want to read. So I’m pulling out the longer works and publishing them as stand-alone fics. If you’re a subscriber and getting notifications about these, sorry about that! It’s not my intention to spam you, and I backdated these works to help distinguish them from new ones. Thanks for your patience, and happy reading!
> 
> ——
> 
> A brief re-imagining of that final scene. Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine.

The door closes quietly behind her, and for a long moment all Oliver can do is stare at the empty space where her wheelchair had been.

He knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, that if he moves from this spot what had just happened (he can’t name it, can’t possibly put words to it), would be real. The black waters in his chest would increase into something he couldn’t ignore or numb, and he can’t deal with that yet.

Or at least he thinks he can’t, right up until he hears Felicity voice call out to him shakily from the hallway.

He’s away from the table and through the door before he blink, because there is both happiness in knowing she’s still there, and terror in not knowing what he’ll find. When he reaches her, he can hardly believe what he sees: Felicity, half-standing out of her wheelchair.

Her legs are visibly shaking, and she’s holding on to the chair for balance, but she’s _standing._ It’s enough to overtake every other emotion in that moment - all of the pressure in his lungs, the red splotches around her eyes - it all fades away at the sight of her, melting into awe.

He lets himself feel the awe and joy and pride for one, two, three beats. When he starts to get overwhelmed, he moves - a short, hesitant step toward her, because he can’t just reach out for her, not without potentially hurting her.

“I need to-” He has to stop, and clear the hoarseness out of his voice. “Can I...can I hug you?”

Her face collapses immediately. “ _Please_.” And she half-walks, half-falls into him.

He catches her (of course, he will always catch her), and gathers her up. He holds her as close as he possibly can, feels her hands clench against his back.

“Oh my god,” she whispers against his chest, and it’s thick with surprise, but also with a kind of anguish. _I wanted to be able to walk down the aisle on our wedding day._

It makes him tighten his arms around her. Her blonde hair falls down over his arm, a caress he can barely handle. He has to form steady breaths with her, because if he doesn’t, that’s it. All those black waters will come bubbling up, and he can’t do that to her, not now.

Instead, he pulls back. “I love you. I’m so-” he breaks, just for a second. He can’t help it. “I’m so happy for you.”

And he is. _I’m here for you. I’ll be here. I love you._ He hopes she hears it.

She nods, head down, sniffling. He holds her gently as she walks unsteadily to sit back in her chair. When she’s settled, he turns, presses his palms against his eyes, and then presses the elevator button for her. He leans down to pick up the duffle bag that had fallen to the hallway floor and then places it back in her lap.

As he straightens, she squeezes his forearm, like she’s reinforcing a connection before she lets go. And even though her head is still bowed, and he can’t see her face, he’s so grateful - so utterly grateful - because maybe it means that this is a retreat, and not a goodbye.

It gives him the strength to watch her glide into the elevator, to watch the doors close behind her back. It gives him the strength to walk back into the loft without her, to put away the engagement ring. 

He can believe that this is all temporary, that he can be better. It gives him the strength to believe that they’ll come back together when he is. _This is a retreat, not a goodbye._


End file.
